


Umami

by scullyphile



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Food, Late at Night, MSR, kitchen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 06:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4993468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullyphile/pseuds/scullyphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder gets a midnight snack. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Umami

Mulder awoke at 3:43 a.m., warm and happy in Scully’s bed. He lay on his back with his right hand draped over his stomach; his left hand extended out to his side, where he was certain only a moment ago his sleep saturated fingers had softly brushed her flesh. He was completely naked, although his ankles seemed to be caught in an elaborate trap. He may as well be hanging upside-down. The image of his body suspended from the ceiling fan made him smirk to himself. Fox Mulder was captured.

Perhaps Scully was in the bathroom. He both heard and felt his stomach rumbling. What were the chances of finding any late-night snacks in his partner’s fridge? Dare he wish for cold chicken, leftover pizza? 

He sat up and, drowsily at first, and started to untangle the sheet from his ankles. His hunger woke him more, and he saw just the spot to pull in order to free himself completely.

When he stood, he noticed the light coming in through the crack under the bedroom door. It was faint, a subtle glow Mulder found most inviting. He opened the door silently, and beheld the most beautiful sight in existence. 

Agent Dana Katherine Scully stood naked in her kitchen, illuminated only by the light from the refrigerator. Her left arm was draped over the refrigerator door, and the other… the other arm bent up toward her mouth, and her hand held a chicken leg to her lips. The shadow of her arm fell over her breast, and the shadow of the drumstick covered her lips. 

He was struck speechless, motionless, hopeless. He could not think of a single thing to hope for more than this. All he wanted was a bite of that chicken and to touch her, but not necessarily in that order.

She took two more bites before he managed to shift his weight from one bare foot to the other. A floorboard creaked, and she turned her head.

“Oh, hi,” she said, and when he neither spoke nor moved, she continued speaking, raising the chicken like the drink in casual toast. “There’s more of this.”

In a blur of movement, he was there next to her, his arm around her waist. Her lips were salty and slippery with grease. She was umami; she was delicious. He could never starve.


End file.
